Choice
by blueowls
Summary: Rachel x Quinn, side Brittany x Santana. //As soon as they hand their boarding passes to the woman behind the counter, Rachel realizes that she’s made a terrible mistake.//


**Author Note:**An angst request. Short.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Choice**

As soon as they hand their boarding passes to the woman behind the counter, Rachel realizes that she's made a terrible mistake. She almost reaches out and takes it back, her hand even inching forward on the counter top, but Brittany looks at her quizzically and Rachel stops herself, reaching for a pen instead and pretending that was her goal all along. She doodles dejectedly on the counter, past caring about anything other than getting on the plane and sleeping, before Brittany moves beside her to take back the passes, and Rachel drops the pen instantly, leaving an unfinished heart that will probably smudge the next time someone slides their passport across the counter.

"All right," the woman says cheerfully, motioning them toward the hallway behind her. "You're all set. Have a nice flight."

Rachel feels physically sick once they've made it to the plane. She slides past Brittany, taking her ticket and walking forward. She looks up every now and then to check the listed seating off against the numbers printed on the compartments overhead, and they end up sitting toward the middle of the plane, on the left. Brittany takes her bag from her and easily stuffs it into the overhead compartment before throwing hers in as well, and Rachel lets her have the window seat in thanks. She always looks ridiculously childish trying to reach high spaces.

They get settled in, Rachel fluffing a pillow on her lap and Brittany sliding the cover on the window up to look out. It's dark outside because they chose a cheap redeye flight, so Brittany leans forward and breathes against the thick glass, fogging a corner and drawing a smiling face in the condensation before turning to Rachel.

"Is it going to be cold when we get there?"

Rachel's studied New York City and the area surrounding Juilliard since she was old enough to read a map, which is why she offered to accompany Brittany. She tells herself that she's doing Brittany a favor, but in reality, Rachel knows all the map reading in the world can't prepare her for _actually_ arriving in New York City. At the very least, they can get lost together, and Brittany can always stop some crazy person from simply tossing her over their shoulder and sauntering off with her. However, Rachel hadn't checked the weather forecast because it was at the very bottom of her list of priorities, so she just shrugs, slinking down in her seat a little.

"I don't know, Brittany. Did you bring a jacket?"

"Yeah," Brittany answers halfheartedly. She leans against the window, flicking her fingers through the condensation and changing the subject. "How did Quinn take it? I mean, you leaving? That must have been hard, especially with Caroline."

Rachel feels her breath catch in her throat as Brittany breathes against the window again, this time drawing a pattern of miniature hearts.

How did Quinn take it? Oh, Quinn doesn't even know she's gone yet, and neither does Caroline because Rachel is truly a horrible person. She told Quinn at the end of senior year that nothing was more important than staying with her and her daughter, even if it meant a year or two in Lima before either of them could look outside Ohio for school. They applied to community college and spent the rest of the summer together, and everything was wonderful except for one single nerve-wracking secret hanging over her head.

The Lima community college letterhead haunted Rachel every time she closed her eyes and she could almost _see_the Broadway opportunities slipping through her fingers as each new day went by, and she thanked herself for whatever selfish foresight had made her apply to Juilliard anyway at the end of senior year. She was half hoping she wouldn't get accepted because she knew she couldn't keep her promise to Quinn if she got in. The day she got her acceptance letter was supposed to be one of the best of her life, but it turned out to be one of the worst.

"I don't want to talk about it," Rachel says quickly, trying to keep her voice from cracking. "What about Santana?"

"She's going to try to transfer out of OSU as soon as she can," Brittany says quietly. "To Columbia or something."

"That's not too far off," Rachel says. She tries to make it sound cheerful, but she can't. There's a moment of silence before Brittany starts to sob quietly, but Rachel only crosses her arms, closes her eyes, and tries to sleep.

The guilt keeps her up the entire flight, and it's a fitting punishment that she has to listen to Brittany cry herself to sleep.

* * *

Drinks with Brittany started out as a way to cope in freshman year, all those years ago, but since then, they've graduated from school and from vodka in dorm rooms to careers and real drinks in upscale restaurants, even if Rachel's still carded every time she orders something as harmless as a margarita. They've even added Santana, ever since she actually made it to Colombia.

Rachel tries not to think about Lima as Brittany and Santana settle in the seats opposite her, still as touchy and codependent as they were before college. Ever since Brittany moved in with Santana, Rachel's lived alone in what can't really be called a home—it's more like a closet, and one she's paying an exorbitant amount for with help from her dads. The irony would be delicious if it weren't so depressing. And the lack of another person to share a bed with—which, admittedly, she and Brittany both did the first couple of years, although it was completely platonic because neither could ever really sleep alone—is something she hasn't had to deal with since before she and Quinn became a couple.

"Elphaba, right?" Brittany asks suddenly for the benefit of Santana, who staunchly refuses to see any Broadway plays, deeming them too fruity. Santana laughs sharply, her head tilting back.

"They should have made you one of the flying monkeys."

"Honestly, where is the respect?" Rachel laments, her expression almost a pout as Brittany rolls her eyes and slides a hand over Santana's mouth to stifle her, yanking it back quickly and rubbing her hand on a napkin as Santana grins at her. Apparently, despite an Ivy League education, she's not above licking fingers like a four-year-old. "Don't typecast me. But yes, I _am_Elphaba. It's the most lucrative Broadway play right now, and it has been for years. Of course that's where I'm going to be. They let my height slide because I'm just that good. And I wear heels."

"The green paint must be a bitch to wash off," Santana comments, leering.

"Let's not go there," Rachel says quickly, and this time, Brittany's the one to laugh. "So, how is everyone? Do you go back to Lima often?"

"I do," Santana nods. "Since Britt's schedule is so full. Everyone's fine. Hold on, I've got some pictures on my phone."

Santana reaches into her bag for her phone, and she taps the screen, pulling up the pictures effortlessly and holding the phone out across the table. Rachel stares at it, making no move to take it. It looks like it costs about as much as her entire wardrobe.

"You won't sue me if I accidentally drop it in my margarita?" she asks seriously, and Santana pauses, a thoughtful look on her face.

"No. I'll just beat you up," she says, and then Brittany elbows her softly and she shrugs, waving the phone at Rachel. "I'm kidding. Just take it, but don't go past the sixth picture."

"Why not?" Rachel asks, already scrolling past the sixth picture. Santana leans across the table quickly and grabs it out of her hand, but not before Rachel sees a flash of blonde hair and a familiar smile.

It's Quinn and Caroline, Caroline's arms around Quinn's waist as Quinn smiles at the camera, a hand on Caroline's head.

"Why are you so goddamned nosy?" Santana hisses, shoving the phone back in her bag as Brittany, used to the volatile relationship between the two of them, unworriedly takes a sip of her own drink. "Jesus. It's your own fault you saw it."

"Can I see it again, now that it's out?" Rachel asks, and Brittany can see the hungry look in her eyes. She lays a hand on Santana's, stopping the other woman from getting the phone out again. When neither Santana nor Brittany make a move, Rachel sighs dejectedly.

"Can you at least give me her number?"

Santana snorts and then shakes her head quickly. "That is _not_ a good idea, Berry. She'd kill me, and then Brittany would kill you for getting me killed. It'd be a complete mess."

"Oh," Rachel breathes softly, wincing. "I see."

"Contact her on Facebook," Santana says, ignoring a fairly severe glare from Brittany. "I think almost everyone that used to be in glee has one. Excluding me and Britt, because we're too cool."

"Are you sure it's not because you never got the hang of using it?" Brittany teases. Santana leans toward her, and Rachel already knows what's coming and averts her eyes, biting her lip as they kiss.

"No, I think that's you," Santana murmurs, earning another quiet laugh and kiss from Brittany.

"I think I'm going to do it," Rachel says suddenly, and both of them turn to look at her.

"Rachel," Brittany starts. "I don't think that's a good idea. Like, at all."

"No, I want to," Rachel says sincerely. "I _need_ to. To say sorry, at the very least."

"Suit yourself," Brittany sighs as Santana gets her phone out and slides it across the table to Rachel, the screen opened to the picture. "When you set your mind on something, God knows I can't change it. But remember that I tried to warn you."

* * *

Later that night, Rachel logs onto Facebook and goes straight to the search bar, typing in _Quinn_ and pausing. Santana had refused to giver her any more information other than the tip that she was on Facebook, citing that she wasn't going to get herself into that unpromising mess, so Rachel assumes and adds _Fabray,_hitting enter.

Rachel finds herself on Quinn's profile, although the wall is hidden, and when she sees that Quinn's profile picture is the one Santana had on her phone, Rachel feels her chest tighten painfully. Quinn looks happy, and Rachel's thankful for that at least. She doesn't have the courage to look any lower and see what her status is. The only thing she can assume is that if Quinn's still going by Fabray, then she might not be married.

Rachel hits the 'friend' button and leaves her computer alone, trying to calm herself down. When she logs back onto her account several hours later, she checks Quinn's wall again. Quinn's posted something sweet and trivial about Caroline—winning a spelling competition or something like that—and Rachel feels her chest tighten again. It's almost as if Quinn's teasing her, because the friend invitation still hasn't been accepted. So Rachel tries again before shutting her computer off, feeling less and less like this is going to end happily.

She gets a call from Santana the next day, and there's some pleasant chitchat before they both get to the point they know is coming.

"She said stop trying," Santana says softly, and Rachel nods wordlessly as she hangs up.

So Rachel stops trying because that's the only respectable thing she can do now, and every single time she signs an autograph or gets a standing ovation or receives an award that she can place with the others in her empty home, she realizes she made the wrong choice and she's never going to be able to take it back.


End file.
